


o prolong now the sorrow

by derwent



Category: Watchmen (2009)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Kink Meme, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derwent/pseuds/derwent
Summary: April 1986. Dan Dreiberg is preparing to move when the phone rings and brings Adrian Veidt back into his life.
Relationships: Dan Dreiberg/Adrian Veidt, Dan Dreiberg/Laurie Juspeczyk
Kudos: 3
Collections: Watchmen Kinkmeme 7





	1. Cracks in the Foundation

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt in the old kinkmeme: [After Karnak, Adrian forgets everything, even himself, who he is, what he's done. Dan tries to pick up the pieces.](https://spam-monster.livejournal.com/4913.html?thread=14045489#t14045489) Crossposted to the new kinkmeme on DW.
> 
> Brief Dan/Laurie in the first chapter. Artistic licence taken with regards to the medical stuff.

Another box taped shut, another part of his life neatly packed. It was unsettling, really, how his life fit so easily into boxes. Dan would be the first to admit that his life had lost its luster – once he led a relatively rich one, years ago, but not anymore. Not even Laurie’s presence beside him really helped, no matter how much Dan wished it to.

With a sigh, he told himself to stop being ridiculous. It was just moving blues. He’d lived here for decades, after all. He forced himself to focus on the next stack of books. They were the easiest among his belongings to sort and pack, so they were first to go into the boxes.

Well, all his books except for one.

Rorschach’s journal lay on his work table, down in the Nest. Dan made a mistake leaving it out on the dining table the night he brought it home. The resulting argument with Laurie ended with an ugly silence. Sure, it was beyond reckless of him to break into the _New Frontiersman_ ’s office, but Dan couldn’t find it in him to regret his action, especially since only two days later the office was burned down. It had been almost two months since the fire, but the police’s investigation still wasn’t heading anywhere, supposedly because they still had their hands full of recovery effort.

No one was fooled, though. It was obvious the arsonist was someone angered by the newspaper’s publication of Rorschach’s journal, which accused Veidt as the true mastermind behind the November attack. Only four people alive knew that the journal spoke the truth. Everyone else – excepting the most paranoid conspiracy theorists – drowning in the reconciliatory, peaceful mood that prevailed after the attack, had denounced the publication as typical the right-wing rag’s hate-mongering. The anger previously directed at Dr. Manhattan now turned, laser-focused, to the newspaper, and its office was besieged by daily protests until its demise.

He was startled out of his thought by the telephone’s ring, its insistence tearing through the house’s silence. Sally, perhaps, or maybe the real estate agent? He hauled himself up from where he was sitting on the floor, almost tripping over another cardboard box, and picked it up.

“Mr. Daniel Dreiberg?”

“Speaking.”

“Mr. Dreiberg, my name is Dr. Albert Lindsay, from Mount Sinai Hospital.”

Cold trickled down his spine. “Is – is Laurie alright? Did something happen?”

“Who?” The voice on the other end hesitated for a moment, and Dan felt a tiny spark of relief. She was safe, then.

What little relief he won, however, vanished at the doctor’s next words.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dreiberg. I’m calling on behalf of Adrian Veidt.”

“Adrian?” he echoed. The name sounded strange coming out of his mouth. He and Laurie hadn’t spoken it in the house, not since November.

“Yes. He’s currently under my care here. Could you come right away? It’s a most pressing matter.”

“I –” he faltered. He wanted nothing to do with the man. Hell, that was why he and Laurie were moving away in the first place.

“What is it about?” he asked reluctantly.

“I’m afraid it’s too sensitive to be discussed on the phone. Please, Mr. Dreiberg.”

Dan closed his eyes. He should say no and hung up. But there was a faint pleading note in the doctor’s voice, and Dan was always too nice for his own good, or so his father used to say. 

Dan took a deep breath. “Alright.”

* * *

Dr. Lindsay was a man in his sixties, with the air of genial family doctor that was in contrast with his sleek, sterile office.

“Well?” Dan said, after they had sat down.

“Mr. Dreiberg, you are a ... friend of Mr. Veidt, I presume?”

He stopped himself from snorting at the last second. “Colleague would be a more appropriate term. Former colleague, that is.”

He blinked in surprise at Dan. “That ... certainly complicates things.”

Dan sighed, impatient. “Look, can you just tell me what’s going on?”

Lindsay’s grey eyes took Dan in, appraising him. 

“Five days ago, after Mr. Veidt failed to show up in his office at his usual schedule, his secretary found him unconscious in his living room. The in-house medical team at Veidt Industries was called, and they made the decision to bring him here. This morning he woke up.”

Here the doctor paused. He spread his fingers on the desk between them, face drawn tight in recollection.

“I went to check on him. I greeted him, _Morning, Mr. Veidt, glad to have you back with us_. And he looked at me, uncomprehending, and asked, _Who?_ ”

The doctor looked up, eyes meeting Dan’s, who felt as if the ground had been pulled from beneath him.

He took off his glasses with unsteady hands and began polishing them. The whisper of cloth against glass was the only sound heard for several moments. Finally Dan put his glasses on again, and looked right into Dr. Lindsay’s eyes.

“What’s your diagnosis?”

“We’ll have to run more tests, but so far, focal retrograde amnesia. He has no memory of his life; he doesn’t even remember his own name.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up his throat; Dan clamped his mouth shut. This was absurd. But then, what did he know about absurdity? The man he used to consider a friend turned out to be a mass murderer. “What’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know yet. We ran the customary tests – head trauma, alcohol and drugs, the works – when he arrived, but nothing turned up. He was, as far as we could tell, as healthy as his physical appearance suggests.”

“Nothing’s unusual in the slightest?” Dan’s mind scrambled for possible causes. “Adrian, uh, he was involved with energy research with Dr. Manhattan.” Lindsay flinched upon hearing the name. “Have you asked his secretary? People from his research team?”

“We have. And still we found nothing.” He slid a Manila folder across to Dan. “All the information you want can be found inside. The sooner we can conduct further, more comprehensive testing, the better.”

Dan’s hands stopped halfway from opening the folder. “Why haven’t you?”

“Because, Mr. Dreiberg, in his condition, we don’t think the patient is capable of making informed decision. That’s why we – us doctors and his lawyers – made the decision to call you here.”

Despite the cool air conditioning inside the room, Dan felt his palms begin to sweat.

His face must’ve reflected his feeling, because Lindsay’s voice softened on his next words. “Mr. Dreiberg, I’m telling you all of this because Mr. Veidt gave you power of attorney.”

For a moment, silence reigned. Then a strained, almost hysterical laugh escaped from his throat. “There’s gotta be a mistake,” Dan tried to explain, “Adrian and I – we’re not on speaking terms. Hell, our last meeting was – it didn’t end well.”

Lindsay’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared behind his hair. “Well, apparently Mr. Veidt didn’t think so.” He stood up. “I think it best if we go see him.”

* * *

“Mr. Veidt, you have a visitor,” Dr. Lindsay said, walking in first, lips curled up in a reassuring smile.

Dan stepped inside the room. Adrian was sitting on the bed propped up on pillows, gazing outside the window at the spring afternoon. Now he turned his head, and Dan was struck by the vulnerable expression on his face. Not an expression he’d ever expect to see. Not a word he’d ever expect to use to describe Adrian Veidt either.

As the doctor said, he appeared healthy, if a little thinner and paler than Dan remembered. Although perhaps it was because of the hospitalization.

“This is Daniel Dreiberg,” the doctor introduced him, “He’s a friend. You gave him power of attorney.”

Adrian’s lips rose into a tentative smile. “I’m sorry,” he said (and damn, today was a whole train of the unexpected running over Dan, wasn’t it), “I don’t remember you.” Was that embarrassment flickering in his eyes?

Dan took a fortifying breath. “It’s ... fine, Adrian.”

With an encouraging nod, Dr. Lindsay stepped out. Now they were alone in the room. Adrian was still looking at him with that unsure look in his face, and Dan found himself wishing that he’d stop. He looked around instead. It was the VIP room, complete with a set of couches and TV for visitors. There was a chair beside the bed, and he remembered something the doctor said about Adrian’s secretary. It was rather sad, though considering Dan had only Laurie in his life, who was he to judge?

Suddenly he felt tired. His body slumped against the wall.

“Please, sit down,” Adrian said, gesturing toward the chair. His accent was thicker than ever.

“I won’t be long,” Dan snapped. A muscle in Adrian’s jaw twitched. Once that face would have remained as smooth as marble. Dan couldn’t find it in him to give a damn. Adrian dumped all these unwanted responsibilities on him, dammit, without even asking, and _after Karnak_.

“The doctors need to run a thorough testing to find out what’s going on. Lindsay would walk you through it.”

Adrian nodded. “Alright,” he said softly.

“Alright,” Dan echoed. “I’ll let him know,” he said as he turned away. For a second Adrian’s mouth parted, but he seemed to sense better and snapped it shut.

He stepped out of the room, desperate to escape this surreal dream, only to find himself under the sharp eyes of the doctor and two lawyers in well-tailored suits.

Dan took the doctor aside. “I’ve talked to Adrian. Run the tests,” he instructed. Lindsay nodded. Then he called the men and introduced them as Adrian’s lawyers. He went inside to check on Adrian, leaving Dan to fend for himself.

The lawyers handed Dan a paper containing a statement written by the PR department, announcing that Adrian Veidt was being hospitalized for exhaustion. It made sense; announcing to a recovering world that one of its most influential benefactors had lost his memory would be disastrous. He gave his approval for the release. Then before they could demand any more from his time, he made up a flimsy excuse of what a shock this whole thing had been, and escaped with a speed that would’ve rivaled Adrian’s.

* * *

He roamed the streets aimlessly until the sky turned black and the streets almost empty, the latter being one of the changes he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. Five months after the attack, and the city still hadn’t rediscovered its old self yet. Dan understood, really – it would be beyond callous if people started going back to the old normal so soon after such a devastating destruction, and if the faces of the random passers-by on the streets were any indication, no one had the energy to have fun anyway, too exhausted by both the recovery effort and the effort it took to get through the day.

It felt wrong – this was not the city Dan spent his whole life living in. But the world had turned upside down in less than a year. He thought he knew who his friends and allies were, what sort of people they were. Turned out he was wrong, _so_ wrong. Nothing was certain anymore.

At least he didn’t have to worry as much about being mugged or worse. Crime rate was still at historic low, though Dan couldn’t share the optimism pervading the air. It remained to be seen whether Adrian was right in his belief that the attack would be wake-up call humanity needed. It was ironic, really. For the longest time, Dan had always thought he was the starry-eyed one.

The living room light seeped out from behind the drawn curtain. Laurie jumped up from the couch in relief.

“I was starting to worry.”

“Sorry. Ended up taking a longer walk than I planned to.” He wondered if he should feel guilty for how easily the lie came out. “You didn’t read my note?”

“I did. Just –” she shrugged, “You know.”

“Yeah.” He kissed her cheek. “Don’t wait for me; I’m in an urgent need for a shower.” She wrinkled her nose, laughed and went to bed.

Dan went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. Then he climbed up the stairs and into the bathroom, dumping his slightly wet clothes to the laundry basket. The sting of hot water on his body and aching feet made him groan in pleasure.

Dan could wreck his brain trying to explain Adrian’s motives, but he knew better than to labor under the delusion that Adrian’s mind was comprehensible to mere mortal like him. He spent the better part of two decades thinking he knew Adrian, not as well as he would’ve liked, of course, but enough to consider him a friend.

The truth was, in the ‘60s, back when their steps were still light with optimism (and wide-eyed idealism, at least for him), he _would_ say Adrian was a friend. Rorschach was the one he partnered with most often, true, but there were cases better suited for cooperation with Ozymandias. After patrol, more often than not they hang out together, and occasionally even on nights they weren’t patrolling. It was stimulating, to have someone who not only understood his technical talk about Archie but also with whom he could bounce ideas off.

Dan thought he understood Adrian, a little. They never shared much about their personal lives, but Dan went to his place a few times, back when Veidt Enterprises was in its infancy and Adrian still lived in a normal (albeit fancy) apartment instead of a penthouse. Coupled with the occasional remarks, he built up a profile of Adrian in his mind: only child, wealthy parents, lonely childhood (it mustn’t have been easy being the smartest kid in the class, even if he tried to blend in. Ask Dan how he knew, and he wasn’t even a genius like Adrian), the stubborn resolution to forge his own path, and finally the desire to do something for others.

Now he realized that he was merely projecting. Somewhere deep inside him there was that lonely little boy lurking around still, too eager to make friends and find his people.

He leant his forehead against the damp wall. He was a fool then, and he was a fool now.

Hollis’s absence crept upon him at unexpected moments, like an unseen cut that made its presence known when stung by water. He never felt it more keenly that he did now. Hollis would’ve known what to do, would’ve let Dan ramble on as he tried to figure the whole problem out. Dan let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes, as the water continued to rain down upon his body.

* * *

Two days later found Dan in the Veidt Enterprises’ lobby. Lindsay called him yesterday, informing him that so far the tests still hadn’t revealed anything wrong with Adrian. They’d scheduled more tests, and in the meantime, the doctor asked him to bring some of Adrian’s personal items, to help jog his memory.

So there he sat on one of the couches in the lobby at eight in the morning. A woman in a smart gray suit strode towards him. She held out a hand and smiled, the warmth surprising Dan. “Mr. Dreiberg? I’m Sophie, Adrian’s secretary.”

He returned the smile and shook her hand. “Please, call me Dan.”

“Alright. Follow me, please.” She led him to a discreet elevator, separate from the others. A commotion at the front door made Dan turned his head back. Two mailmen were pushing a trolley stacked to the top with colorful envelopes inside the building.

Sophie caught his gaze. “Get-well-soon letters,” she explained as she pressed the button and the elevator door slid open to let them in. “Since the PR release we’ve been receiving tons of them.”

She fished out a set of keys from her pocket. One of them was golden. She inserted the key into the slot beneath a golden Hieroglyph symbol, turned it, then pressed the symbol.

“Keys to Adrian’s penthouse. They were inside the envelope containing his emergency instructions, along with the letter naming you as his emergency contact.”

Reluctantly, Dan took the keys. He turned them over and over in his hands. Sophie stared ahead tactfully. Whereas Adrian’s previous secretary exuded an intimidating aura, with her Amazonian height, icy blue eyes and perfectly coiffed blonde hair, Sophie was the embodiment of friendliness, her strawberry blonde hair tied into a ponytail, leaving her face open and green eyes shining.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open without a sound. They stepped out into the foyer of Adrian’s penthouse. A few paces in front of them was Adrian’s living room – the wall of glass, with its once-glorious view of Manhattan, an exact replica of the one in Adrian’s office one floor below. To the right was a corridor; to the left an expansive kitchen peeked out from behind an intricate wooden partition.

“The corridor on the right led to the guest’s bedroom and bathroom. On the left, after the kitchen is Adrian’s bedroom and en-suite bathroom. Of course, you have total access to everything.”

He felt his stomach dropped. He spent yesterday desperately hoping that this was all a mistake, a nightmare, or that the phone would ring with news of Adrian’s miraculous recovery of memory. Being inside his penthouse told him in no uncertain times how real the whole thing was.

Dan could feel Sophie observing him from the corner of her eyes. He tried to smile, but ended up with a grimace, “I don’t suppose you could tell me where he keeps important stuff?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid this is the furthest I’ve ever been. You know, this is only the second time I’ve come up here. The first time I stood where you are while Adrian explained what to do in an emergency. It was in November last year, after the attack,” her smile was tinged with sad surprise, “I wasn’t expecting to come back so soon.”

Dan wondered if he should offer reassuring words. But then Sophie straightened up, put that professional face back on, and nodded at him, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

And then Dan was alone.

The most likely place he’d find any personal items was, of course, the bedroom. But Dan wasn’t ready to intrude Adrian’s sanctuary, so he wandered through the living room first. Egyptian was still the theme of choice for decor, but the artifacts and artworks weren’t as ostentatious here as they were in Adrian’s office below. Two floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanked a sophisticated TV set, across a set of purple couches. He peered at the shelves and recognized some of the collections from Adrian’s old place. Adrian’s taste was as impeccable and befitting a man of his stature as one would expect: canonical and even obscure works from Western and Eastern literatures with volumes of history and philosophy dominating.

As he’d expected, there was nothing useful there. A quick examination of the guest’s bedroom revealed nothing but the fact that Adrian was considerate enough of others’ taste to furnish the bed with white sheet instead of the ubiquitous purple.

The kitchen was next. The whole utensils were top-notch, but they didn’t look well-used and the fridge was bare. Combined with the other rooms, they reminded Dan of glossy photographs in home décor magazines, perfectly decorated but not really lived in.

That left only one more room.

Adrian’s king-sized bed was covered in silk purple sheet. No surprises there. He stepped into the expansive bathroom. A search of the medicine cabinet yielded nothing unusual, no suspicious pills or bottles. Neither did the large walk-in closet. The only places left were the two nightstands on either side of Adrian’s bed. The first drawer on the right side nightstand contained various sex toys and devices. The drawer below was empty.

Well then. Dan knelt in front of the left side nightstand.

There was only one thing inside the top drawer: a picture frame lying face down. Dan lifted it out carefully and turned it over. A couple on their wedding day gazed back at him. The groom’s face would have been handsome were it not for the cold and haughty expression. The bride’s was beautiful with hint of aristocratic bearing. They stood unsmiling in their well-tailored outfit, which in itself wasn’t unusual – Dan’s parents were as demure in their wedding picture. But even years later, their picture still radiated the bliss and love animating the newlyweds’ pose. The lack of warmth in the Veidts’s photograph unsettled him. He took out the picture from its frame. Scribbled on the back was the date: Berlin, 1937.

With a jolt, he realized that he didn’t know their names. Adrian had never told him in their conversations, and neither did Adrian ever mention them in any of the countless interviews he gave. It was almost as if Adrian’s life began at seventeen after their deaths. He filed it away for further rumination later, and put the picture inside his bag.

The lower drawer contained two things: one an old, dusty journal (he was seized by the urge to laugh), and a small collar. The journal’s pages were filled with ticket stubs, sketches and photographs, and other random scraps of papers. Dan flipped through it. He could chart Adrian’s journey in its pages: Europe then Middle East via Turkey, and finally Africa. Short notes in various languages were scribbled randomly all over the pages.

It raised more questions than answers, and it fed this impulse in Dan that had always wanted to pick Adrian’s brain since their first meeting. Into his bag went the journal.

The collar was puzzling. It was too small for a human, and anyway if it were a sexual thing, it would’ve been found inside the other nightstand. His fingers felt along the inside. There were symbols engraved there, but not letters. He brought it closer to his eyes and saw hieroglyph.

Oh. Bubastis’s old collar, back when she was a kitten. It was totally sentimental, and yet not unexpected, not really. If there were one living being Adrian genuinely cared about it was her. Carefully Dan returned it to its place. A hospital room didn’t seem like the right place to re-acquaintance Adrian with such an intimate memory.

He took the elevator down one floor to Adrian’s office. Sophie was on her desk just outside.

“Find anything useful?”

“A little,” he answered. “I’d like to check his office, just to be thorough.”

“Sure. You don’t have to ask, you know,” she said as she opened the doors.

The memory of the last time he was here made him falter for a second. Then resolutely he banish the thought away – now was not the time.

He went to Adrian’s wide desk and rifled through the drawers once again. The search was futile, as he’d expected. Though he did find out that the Pyramid diskette wasn’t there anymore. There were folders that maybe he should glance through, but he doubted they were personal in nature.

Dan returned to Sophie’s desk. “Uh, do you have any biographical details on Adrian?”

“Well, we have a short profile for press and other publication needs, but it only contains the most general information.” She took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Dan. He skimmed it and yes, nothing revealing there. Immigrated to the US as a child with his parents, parents died when he was seventeen. Became a vigilante called Ozymandias upon returning after his travels to the East and began building Veidt Enterprises. The rest was a list of achievements, both his personally and the company’s.

He grimaced. Sophie winced in sympathy. “I’ll take it anyway. Thanks, Sophie. Uh, I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

“You’re going to see him today?”

“I’m going straight to the hospital, actually,” he answered.

“Can you give this to Adrian, please?” Sophie pulled out a lavender envelope. “It’s a card, from me and the staff,” she nodded at a couple other desks.

“Sure,” Dan put it inside his bag.

* * *

He ran into Adrian and his nurse on the corridor. They just wrapped up another test, as it turned out.

After the nurse left, Dan handed Adrian the card first. “The card’s from Sophie, your secretary, and some of the other staff.”

Adrian read it. “That’s very kind of them,” he said, voice soft, accent already barely detectable. “Everyone here, too, they’ve been nothing but kind.”

Dan rolled his eyes, “Of course, you’re the great Adrian Veidt.” The words came out sharper than he intended.

Adrian looked at him. “Everyone but you,” he said. “Though in some ways it’s to be expected. The hospital staff can hardly treat a VIP patient like me with less than excellent service, at least not if they want to retain elite clientele and potential donors. And since my staff depends on me for their livelihood, they are hardly in the position to not play nice.”

He went on, “You’re the only one whose connection to me is entirely personal. So what did I do, that you don’t even bother?”

Difficult as it was, Dan held his gaze. Adrian’s tone was light, but his eyes betrayed his apprehension.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dan supposed he should be grateful that amnesia didn’t rob the World’s Smartest Man™ of his intelligence. But then again, his quick visit to the library yesterday _did_ tell him that.

As for Adrian’s question ... Well, what was he supposed to say? ‘You killed fifteen million people and destroyed five cities, planted the blame on our former colleague, caused the death of my partner, and after that had the gall to drag me back into your life?’ As if Adrian would ever believe that. Dan certainly wouldn’t in his position.

So Dan asked him instead, “Would you prefer I do?”

Adrian looked down and away. “No.”

Uneasy silence descended between them. After a moment, Dan reached inside his bag and took out the frame, journal, and profile. He put them on Adrian’s lap, who examined them curiously.

“Your parents’ wedding picture,” Dan explained, reaching over and taking the picture out of its frame. Adrian turned it over and read the writing behind. “They, uh, passed away when you were seventeen. After that you traveled to the East. There are pictures and stuff on the journal there. You can read more about what happened after you returned to the US in that paper.”

“And of my life before my parents passed away?”

Dan drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know, Adrian,” he answered, “You never told me, or anyone, as far as I can tell.”

Adrian’s face fell. Dan tried frantically to come up with something, anything. For all Adrian’s charm and confiding manners, he never actually revealed anything substantial about himself.

“Uh, you were an only child. And despite being a genius, you made sure never to do too well in school.”

“... I see. Thank you, Dan.”

“You’re welcome?” It came out hesitant. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you with them. Hopefully they’ll help jog your memory.”

“Hopefully,” Adrian said, though his tone didn’t sound confident.

Dan stood up. “By the way, where’s the TV? I think there was one the first time I came here.”

“Lindsay took it away. Said it was better for me to get information about myself in a more ... controlled manner.”

“... Right. I’ll see you tomorrow,” the words came out automatically.

Adrian looked as surprised as he was.

* * *

He had to tell Laurie eventually, and not just because of their impending move to the West Coast. To say that Laurie didn’t take it well was an understatement.

“The fuck,” Laurie whispered, trembling with rage. “Are you telling me he doesn’t remember a single thing?”

Dan shook his head. “Not even his own name.”

“So, after everything he did, after killing all those people ...” her voice rising, “He gets to _forget_?”

Her entire body coiled with boundless anger, but there were no thugs for her to beat up, nothing to channel her anger into. So she paced around the room, a frustrated animal in trapped in its cage.

Dan let her steam it off, watching from where he stood in front of the windows, surrounded by half-full card boxes and the afternoon light.

Laurie halted abruptly. She turned to look at him, “You said the doctors didn’t know what’s behind this. What if it’s just the next step of Adrian’s plan?”

“Dan,” she went on urgently, “Think about it. He could’ve done this to himself – created a device or a pill or _something_ , so that he could go on living without the burden of what he did.”

That was possible, yes. It had crossed his mind more than once in the previous days. It was an easy answer, convenient. But the memory of Adrian’s battered face, framed by the wall of TVs behind him, surfaced to his mind.

He shook his head, slowly. “I don’t think so, Laurie. In Karnak ... you remember, he said he’d made himself feel every death. I think he genuinely meant it. Misguided as it is, I think he truly believed that it was his cross to bear.” ~~~~

“We’re talking about _Adrian_ ,” her voice rising, “He pulled the wool over our eyes for years!”

“I know,” he said, exhaustion coloring his voice. He wished he could believe Laurie’s theory; his life would’ve been easier. Her face softened.

“Alright, this doesn’t have to change anything,” Laurie reasoned out. “You could, I don’t know, transfer your power of attorney to someone else, or whatever, and we can still move as scheduled. Right?” she looked up at him.

Dan flinched.

“Dan?” A hint of fear, and worse, _betrayal_ , crept into her voice, and Dan suddenly remembered that masks were the only people Laurie ever knew in her life. The move was supposed to be a new start for them, a chance for them to sever any remaining connection to their vigilante days. They were going to build up new lives, try to discover who else they could be.

Except.

Except that Dan had tried it once, hadn’t he? He spent the first few years after the Keene Act doing exactly that. The only thing he learnt was that he was _not_ capable of reinventing himself, of starting over on a fresh page.

And that was without the burden of Adrian’s secret weighing down his soul. That was without Rorschach’s death haunting him. For all of the scars it left upon him, New York was his home, and surrounded by card boxes filled with what remained of their lives, Dan realized that he didn’t want to live anywhere else. He didn’t want to be anyone else. He’d lost so much, he didn’t want to lose this part of him too.

Besides … Dan _wanted_ to understand. Miniscule as the odds were, this was a chance for him to seek it. Not just about Karnak, but also about what made Adrian turn out that way. Perhaps, in helping Adrian discover his past, Dan would find something, anything, that might make some sense of the entire enigma.

He looked at Laurie. Her face had turned white. That face had always been dear to him, would always be. Without the truth hanging over their heads, they might have a chance at love. He hoped she could forgive him one day.


	2. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back, Rinse and Repeat

“Well,” Dan said, putting down the bag, “Welcome home, I guess.”

There was a sad curiosity in the way Adrian explored his own penthouse. Dan wandered what Adrian thought about it. He’d come here a couple more times in the past week, but still he couldn’t dust off the unlived-in aura of the place.

He went to the kitchen and checked the fridge. Sophie had filled it with the groceries Dan requested. He was considering what to cook for dinner when Adrian appeared.

“You didn’t mention my ... obsession with purple,” he said, and Dan had to laugh at that.

“Yeah, you’re the only person I know who could pull off wearing all those purple suits.”

Adrian nodded. He still looked pensive, and Dan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at life’s absurd joke that made him less of a stranger in Adrian’s house than the man himself.

“There are action figures on the coffee table,” Adrian changed the subject. “I don’t suppose you can tell me why?”

“Huh?” Dan followed him to the living room. The whole set was there, complete with Archie and Bubastis. Next to them lay Adrian’s copy of _Under the Hood_ and a biography of Ramses II. Dan recognized them as the ones from Adrian’s desk downstairs.

“Sophie must’ve brought them up. Probably thought they’d help with your memory.”

Adrian picked up the Ozymandias figure. “One of the specialists at the hospital had this on his desk. He hastily put it inside the drawer when I came in. Now I understand why.”

“Better get used to it,” the teasing came out easily. ~~~~

He picked up the tiny version of himself, twisted its right arm so that it held out in greeting, and brought it closer to Ozymandias. “Hi Ozy, I’m Nite Owl II. Wanna go for a ride in Archie?” With his other hand he reached out for Archie. “I’m pretty sure you can open it – Yep, you can.” It took him a couple of tries, but finally Nite Owl sat inside the ship.

His grin was answered with a small, delighted smile that lit up Adrian’s face, making him seem even younger. Later, Dan would pin down that wondrous expression as the reason for his next words. “If you’d like to, I can take you to see the real one,” the offer came out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.

Adrian’s eyes widened minutely in surprise, moving quickly from Dan to the tiny Nite Owl and back to him again. Right. Dan cursed his perpetual awkwardness. “Well, the cat’s out of the bag now, I guess?”

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.” A hesitant pause. “To be honest, I’m relieved to have another former costumed superhero beside me. On purely intellectual grounds, becoming a vigilante made sense. But there is also something rather – juvenile, about the idea.”

But then Adrian shook his head. “Either way, it’s in the past now. So that’s how we knew each other?”

Dan nodded, grateful for the backtracking before they broach uncomfortable territory. “We patrolled together occasionally. And help each other with the more complex cases. And the others, too. Here,” he called them out one by one, “The second Silk Specter, Comedian, Rorschach, and um, Doctor Manhattan – though I think that one won’t be produced anymore.”

“Yes, probably best if we don’t,” Adrian agreed, having been informed about the attack while at the hospital.

Adrian turned his gaze to the last figurine. “And this is?”

Dan’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He swallowed. “She’s Bubastis, your pet lynx. Genetically engineered to have purple fur. Normal cat wasn’t enough for you, I guess,” he finished with an awkward chuckle, desperately hoping Adrian wouldn’t pursue the matter further.

No such luck, of course. “Where is she now?” That pensive look had returned to Adrian’s face.

“… She’s dead, Adrian. I’m sorry,” Dan didn’t know how to soften the blow.

Adrian was silent for a moment, then, “How?”

“... I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie, not really. Dan didn’t know _exactly_ how Bubastis died. He only knew this: that Bubastis had run after Adrian, Jon following after them, and that Adrian returned alone, and then Jon materialized outside after reassembling himself.

Adrian nodded absently, fingers still cradling Bubastis. “I think I’ll turn in. Go ahead and have dinner, Dan,” he murmured, lips curled up in a half-smile that did nothing to hide the curtain that had descended upon his face.

* * *

The morning sunlight streamed in through the window, turning Adrian’s hair golden while hiding his face in the shadows. He was sitting on his desk, eyes drinking in the whole office. He caught Dan’s eyes and gave a faint smile.

Dan returned the smile, heart somewhat lighter now that Adrian didn’t seem as morose as he’d been last night. Not that Dan was dismissing his grief over Bubastis – after all, he’d probably feel the same over Archie. It was just … he woke up this morning in a cloud of self-doubt, second guessing his decision to move in and help taking care of the other man. Add to that the stress prompted by this afternoon’s meeting with the board to discuss Adrian’s leave. Dan was frankly stretched thin as it was, and having to tread lightly around the other man would be too much to ask today.

As he listened to Sophie’s briefing, his frown deepened. “Looks like we won’t have any trouble convincing them that Adrian’s leave is _really_ due to exhaustion,” he retorted. “Did he get enough sleep?” The question was addressed to Sophie.

“Not as much as he should,” Sophie agreed. She was the only employee with the knowledge of Adrian’s true affliction, but they’d agreed that it would be best if they kept up the charade even in private, along with limiting Adrian’s contact with those that might suspect his actual condition.

Dan shook his head. “Come on, Adrian, look how well you COO’s been handling your duties so far. When you’re, er, recovered, try to consider permanently delegating some of them.” Then he looked up and smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry. I do know something about how to run a corporation, despite what appearance suggests.”

“I know,” Adrian nodded. At Dan’s surprise, he elaborated, “One of the wings in the hospital has your name on it. The technician told me it was a donation. I mentioned it to my lawyers, who filled me in on your family.”

It was a bit awkward, honestly, but Dan supposed he couldn’t fault Adrian for wanting to know more about the man taking care of him.

He and Sophie returned to their briefing, while Adrian stood up and wandered towards the shelves. He methodically examined the contents of each shelf and drawer, taking out and rifling through a few files that drew his attention. Even as he took in numerous reports and memos Sophie presented, Dan kept a watchful eye.

The tense lines in Adrian’s back and shoulders worried him. He wondered if anyone else would catch it too, or if he’d just spent so many years observing Adrian. Even so, it was unusual for Adrian to be easy to read. A quick glance at the clock told him it was a quarter to twelve. Might as well take an early break.

“Right, that should be enough. Let’s just go get lunch ...” he hesitated. Right now, Sophie definitely knew more about Adrian’s habit than the man himself. But still, it felt strange asking her while Adrian stood there, as if he was a feeble-minded man incapable of comprehending his surroundings. 

Quick-minded that she was, Sophie caught his hesitation. “Adrian usually gets the vegetarian option from our employee cafeteria. I have today’s menu on my desk; I’ll get it so you can take your pick?”

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having, Sophie. Thanks.” Dan smiled at her. She was a godsend.

“I’ll have the meals sent up here.” With a reassuring smile, she walked out.

The sound of the door clicking shut softly behind her nonetheless sounded unnaturally loud in Dan’s ear. Adrian still hadn’t turned around.

“Adrian?” he called, aiming for a light, unconcerned tone and completely failing.

“There are reports written in French, German, and several other languages here,” Adrian said mildly as if discussing the weather outside. “Not only did I have no problem in understanding them, but I also breezed through them in only a fraction of time it would’ve taken you.”

“And yet,” he continued, and now something dangerous crept inside his voice, “I spent an hour holding Bubastis’s old collar last night and I still couldn’t remember a _single_ thing about her.” An unfamiliar spasm ran through his fingers, as if he wanted to clench them into a fist but managed to stop himself just in time.

“… It’s only been _nine_ days!” the words came out before Dan could come up with better alternatives. “Adrian, you heard what Lindsay said. Memory recovery has nothing to do with your intelligence. There isn’t anything else they really can do, anyway – they haven’t even figured out what’s wrong with you!”

Adrian turned to face him, eyes hard as the marble floor beneath them. “Forgive me for being frustrated, Daniel. But since you don’t seem interested in telling me about my past, I have to seek the answers myself, now, don’t I?”

Dan couldn’t believe it. He rose to his feet. “I would’ve answered if I knew the answers. Maybe if you hadn’t been so needlessly reticent and actually shared stories about your life with your friends like normal people, I would’ve been able to tell you who you are.”

Anger filled Adrian’s face, and distractedly Dan thought his face had never been more beautiful, for once displaying unguarded human emotion. Adrian’s whole body was tense, the way it used to when he was ready to pounce on some random criminal, and Dan wondered how he’d explain the bruises on his face later at the board meeting. The only time Dan had gained the upper hand, that day in Karnak, was because Adrian had let him, had put on no resistance whatsoever against Dan’s desperate blows.

A knock on the door put a pause on the tension between them. “Lunch’s here,” Sophie’s voice rang through the intercom.

Dan took a deep breath and told her to come in. Her eyes flickered between them, picking up the remains of hostility, as the kitchen staff served lunch on the table.

She remained inside after the staff exited the room. “I’m sorry, but one of the board members, Mr. Upton, is here. Said he knew Daniel and would like to discuss a few things before the meeting.”

“... Nathaniel Upton?” Sophie nodded. “Yeah, I know him. He was a good friend of my father’s.”

He bit his lip and glanced at Adrian. Before he could say anything, Adrian cut in, “I think I’ll have lunch upstairs instead.” He picked up the tray despite Sophie’s protest. “No, you go ahead and tell Upton to come in and talk to Dan. And enjoy your lunch.” With swift movement that brooked no argument, he left the room.

Taking off his glasses, he turned to Sophie and smiled ruefully, “Call Upton in.”

As he listened to Upton’s footsteps walking in, he polished his glasses before putting them on again.

“Hello Daniel, it’s good to see you.”

Upton’s hair had turned entirely white, but the smile on his lips was still the familiar one from Dan’s youth. He returned the smile, his first one of the day lacking the unease thrumming through him since the morning. At least here was an ally that might help in that daunting meeting later. The man had known Dan since he was a kid standing timidly beside his father at society events. His father even enlisted Upton to help persuade Dan to join the family business, back when Dan just graduated from Harvard and was still unsure what he wanted to do, beside the bone-deep conviction that he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d heard what the man had to say and, out of respect, politely thanked him.

And yet, look where life brought him to after all.

They sat down on the couch. Upton waved away Dan’s offer to get him lunch. After they got the small talk about family out of the way, he dove into the point.

“I have to admit that I was surprised,” Upton said in a low tone, “I didn’t realize you and Adrian knew each other ... well. Though after mulling it over, I suppose I shouldn’t have. Am I correct in presuming that you became friends in your vigilante days?”

Dan’s head jerked up. His parents knew, of course – should something happened that compromise his identity, they deserved to know the truth from him instead of the news – but he made them promised not to tell anyone else.

Seeing Dan’s lips pursed in anger, Upton lifted an arm in a placating gesture. “No one else knows. Your father told me when he was dying because he was worried about you. You’ve always been a solitary fellow, but it became worse since you donned the mask, and your father wanted someone to know in case something happen.”

It made sense, Dan supposed, though the sting of betrayal lingered. “That’s correct,” he said. “Though it doesn’t really matter how I knew him, does it?”

“You must understand how shocking the whole thing is,” Upton replied, still in the same soothing tone. “Veidt always seemed so … unaffected by physical limitations that plagued other people. That’s why the board gave him such a carte blanche over the company.”

“Yeah, I get it. And don’t worry, I make no pretense of having Adrian’s brain. In fact, that’s what I’m going to talk to the board this afternoon: that I’m delegating most of Adrian’s duties ~~.~~ ”

“That sounds good,” Upton smiled in agreement. He stood up, but instead of saying goodbye, he faltered and bit his lip, hesitating. Dan waited patiently.

Finally the older man made up his mind. “You know,” he began, tone heavy with regret, “Elise and I were really relieved when we heard that you survived the attack. It’s been a long time since we last saw you, and we should’ve done more to keep in touch. We’re sorry that it took a nuclear attack for us to realize that. Let’s have dinner and catch up sometime?” Despite the hesitation and embarrassment coloring his voice, sincerity radiated off of him.

Dan blinked. The notion that someone cares that much for him, that someone would regret not reaching out until it was almost too late – it hadn’t crossed his mind.

And yet, he was at fault too – he’d spent too long hiding, wallowing in his short-sighted misery, distancing himself from old friends and acquaintances, those who once knew him. He thought about this distinguished, kind man, who was not too proud to admit his faults and to seek ways to rectify them, and felt something like shame creeping up.

“I’d love to.” And he meant it.

* * *

That evening, Dan stepped out of the lift, wanting nothing more than soaking in a hot bath. The meeting with the board was a frustrating reminder why he’d spent his whole life avoiding business.

The sight of Adrian on the sofa staring at the action figures in front of him stopped him in his track. Further along the coffee table his copy of _Under the Hood_ was left open.

He felt guilty, but he’d been hoping that he didn’t have to run into Adrian tonight. Their argument earlier still lurked in the back of his mind, and he wished he’d had more time to analyze the whole thing and try to come up with less … fraught words.

“Why did I do it?” Adrian asked, eyes not leaving the figures.

 _Because you wanted to help people_ , Dan could answer. But that wasn’t the sole motive, even in their early days. He’d sensed another: _because you wanted to bring order to this chaotic world_. Or, he could answer with what Dan in Karnak, flayed open by grief and betrayal, would have said: _because you thought that being far superior than other people gives you the right to play God_.

But what good would it do? He settled on the easy one: “I don’t know why you did it.” He shrugged and tried to smile, “Sometimes I’m not even sure of my own reasons.”

If that answer wasn’t enough to satisfy him, Adrian didn’t show it. Instead he took in Dan’s tired expression. “How did the meeting go?” his tone was almost reconciliatory.

“Well enough, I suppose. They are pleased with our solution, and they wished you a speedy recovery.”

“Good,” he paused. Then, “Dinner’s on the table – I asked the kitchen staff to send it up.” His face remained neutral, but his eyes fixed intently at Dan’s face, gauging his reaction.

“Thanks,” Dan said, slightly at a loss for words. Adrian had always been a perfect host, but there was something new here, something akin to genuine concern, or the desire to please. And Dan would brush it off coming from Pre-Amnesiac Adrian, certain he was reading into things that weren’t there. But now...

He went to shower at the guest’s bathroom. All the while, Adrian’s behavior kept bugging him. It didn’t seem fitting, this reconciliatory gesture. But then again he’d never seen Adrian that angry either. At least not for personal reasons – there were a few cases so heinous that ruffled even Adrian’s countenance, mostly those involving children. So he didn’t exactly have the data to figure out whether this was normal.

The scientist part in him, the one he’d been trying to suppress, whispered that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, to see whether this Adrian, stripped of the history that made him who he used to be, would still end up agreeing with his previous self’s action to kill fifteen million people.

He tried, mostly successfully, to banish the idea. That detached observer shtick was (the old) Adrian’s style; and even so it would be wrong to turn around and apply that thinking to Adrian himself.

Still, he went to sleep with a nagging feeling.

* * *

After those rough first couple of days, they settled into a routine with a speed that frightened Dan. Though he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised – it was never difficult for Adrian to put Dan at ease around him.

They exercised and had breakfast together in the morning. The hospital sent an occupational therapist, but since Adrian did not lose any physical or mental abilities, they came up with a structured plan on how Adrian would regain both private and personal knowledge instead. So Adrian spent the morning catching up with the world, which he did by blazing through his library, reading five, six, and even seven doorstoppers daily. Dan mostly stayed around in case Adrian had any questions. During lunch Sophie came up to update them on the company’s goings-on. If anything urgent came up that needed Adrian’s personal input, the three of them figured it out together. Thankfully she was an internal hire, steeped in its institutional knowledge thanks to her almost ten years in the company.

In the afternoon, the men took the elevator down to the cavernous archive section, to go through each and every news clippings, internal and external correspondence and reports, interviews and profiles, and to watch countless recorded TV appearances. They kept a meticulous record here, in Veidt Enterprises. Every coverage in the press, no matter how short, was clipped and pasted to its own page, publication info written beneath.

In the evening they had dinner together. Conversations revolved on safe topics, ones that wouldn’t end up with an argument. Adrian wanted to start returning to work, preferably with the philanthropy recovery effort Veidt Enterprises was leading, and Dan saw no reason why not. The recovery project was recent enough that Adrian’s lack of memory wouldn’t significantly prevent him from handling it.

Dan knew he should talk to Adrian about what little he knew about Adrian’s past, especially about his days as a vigilante, but he kept putting it off, convincing himself that if Adrian wanted to know, he would bring up the subject on his own. The truth was Dan still hadn’t figured out how to approach this stranger. It would’ve been easy to fall back into old habit and act as he used to do with Adrian during their days as masks, except that Adrian’s betrayal at Karnak still weighed heavy in his mind. But neither could Dan treat him with the contempt he felt towards him since that revelation. This Adrian sitting across him was someone else – like an old familiar painting seen underneath a new light, bringing out previously unnoticed colors while once prominent ones now recede to the background.

And Dan wasn’t sure how he should feel about this new Adrian – blank, unburdened with whatever darkness from his past. He still had his innate curiosity and intelligence (the amnesia had zero effect on his genius, the doctors and their tests had assured Adrian’s anxious lawyers), but there was a lack of cold calculation in his gaze, where before it was ever-present. Not that it was obvious. You’d have to spend a lot of time looking at Adrian to see it, and god knows Dan spent most of his time of acquaintance with Adrian doing exactly that.

* * *

In the end, it was Adrian who finally asked him to talk about his time as Ozymandias.

Dan looked up from the ornithology journal he was reading. It was Saturday night, and he was curled up in an armchair, Adrian on the couch to his right watching the TV, or at least that was what Dan thought he was doing. Now Adrian’s hazel eyes watched him intently.

“Well, you preferred to work alone, reaching out when the case got complicated enough to warrant an extra pair of hands. Like that human trafficking case, the one involving beauty salons, you enlisted Laurie – Silk Specter and me to help…” he trailed off, remembering something. “You know what, I think I still have some of the case notes back in my place. I can get them, if you want?”

“That’ll be great, Dan. Thank you. What about the other masks?”

“I mostly worked together with Rorschach; Silk Specter with Dr. Manhattan. The Comedian worked best alone. But depending on the situation, sometimes we teamed up.”

“And then the Keene Act passed and we retired.”

Dan shrugged. “You, me, and Silk Specter were the only ones fully retired. Rorschach kept on patrolling illegally. The Comedian and Dr. Manhattan went to work for the government. Well, technically the latter had always done so.”

“Where are they now? Beside Dr. Manhattan, that is.”

He took of his glasses and closed his eyes, fingers massaging his temple. “Laurie moved to the West Coast to stay with her mother.” The image of Sally’s postcard, which arrived this morning in the mail, flashed in his mind. “Rorschach and Comedian are dead.”

“Was that why you visited me in October last year?”

“… Yeah. Rorschach came to tell me about Comedian’s death, thought someone was killing masks. I didn’t take it seriously, but thought it prudent to warn you anyway.”

“And a few days later someone did try to assassinate me. You most likely saved my life.”

Dan opened his eyes. There was a gentle expression on Adrian’s face, the same one he’d worn that day in his office when Dan came to warn him. It caught Dan off guard, and he couldn’t bear it. He shrugged, hoping the gesture was dismissive enough to close the subject.

No such luck, of course.

“Sophie told me the attempt was a blessing in disguise. It’d been years since I last took some time off. Apparently I was shaken enough by the attempt to take a vacation in Karnak for several days. If I’d been here during the attack … well, at least the building was fortunate enough to be out of the blast range.”

“Where were you that day?” He found nothing but genuine curiosity in Adrian’s eyes.

“I was in Karnak too, actually,” he said quietly, avoiding eye contact, hoping that Adrian would chalk up his hesitation to the pain of remembrance.

“Really?” The surprise was evident in Adrian’s voice.

“Yeah. Rorschach and I went to … discuss the murder attempt with you. Later Laurie and Jon joined us. That was when we found what happened.”

“So Rorschach didn’t die in the attack?”

It was fortunate that Dan kept Adrian company down in the archive, because he knew for a fact Adrian hadn’t come across the uproar about Rorschach’s journal yet. It was up to him how to spin the story.

“No. Jon killed him in Karnak.”

“Why?” Adrian was frowning. Dan had never seen him this openly disturbed. “Even if he really was as detached from humanity as the reports portray him, why didn’t he just leave, without having to kill so many?”

God, what a joke. He almost wished the Comedian was around. Of course Dan knew that sooner or later the attack would come up. With the rate Adrian was devouring information, it was only a matter of time before he finally catch up to current events. He knew this, and he should have prepared his answers.

But he hadn’t. Because how the fuck do you tell someone that they were the one behind the most devastating disaster in recent history? How the fuck do you tell them that they murdered a colleague and frame another for the nuclear attack they committed themselves? How the fuck do you tell them what a megalomaniacal extremist they once were?

And more importantly, why should Adrian believe him? Sure, Adrian gave him power of attorney. But that itself didn’t mean much. It could be that his old self simply never updated his will. It could be that he considered Dan to be the least bad option. Add to that Dan’s initial frostiness and reluctance, and Adrian would be perfectly justified in questioning his motives.

Besides, there was no contrary evidence that Adrian was not the benevolent, genius leader everyone else believed him to be. There was Rorschach’s journal, but given that no one believed it, why should Adrian?

And those were just the practical issues. Did Dan have any right to tell Adrian the truth? _Should_ he? If it had been Laurie who lose her memory, Dan was certain that he wouldn’t tell her, even if it mean having to carry the burden alone. And if it had been him, well…

Yes, it was true that they didn’t kill millions of people, but they stood by and agreed to bury the truth, to let the man responsible escape justice. How much were they culpable was a question that could be argued until the end of time. And no matter what answers others could come up with, Dan knew what his was.

The Adrian sitting across him – he was a different person from the one who destroyed cities and annihilated millions. Would he come to the same decision as his past self, were he given the chance? Dan wasn’t sure he would.

The clock kept ticking. Silence stretched on the empty space between them, questioning, implicating, accusing.

Dan made his call.

“I don’t know. And I’m sorry, Adrian, but I don’t feel like talking about the whole thing.”

“… Don’t be,” Adrian replied, tone full of apology. “I can’t imagine how it feels to live through the whole experience.” He gave Dan a sorrowful smile. “I’m sorry if I drag up memories you’d rather not remember.”

Dan shifted in his seat and decided it was high time to change the subject. “Sophie told me next week would probably be a slow one. I think I’ll head home for a few days. I’ll bring back the case notes when I return.”

Something crossed Adrian’s face, too fast for Dan to decipher. But all he said was, “Alright, Dan.”

Yes, Dan thought. It was probably time to put some distance back between them. At the rate Adrian’s recovery was going, in a month, or even less, he would be fit enough to return to his position, even if his memories didn’t return. And then Dan would be free to leave him and…

And do what? Following Laurie was out of the question – Dan chose Adrian over her. In all likelihood he’d go back spending his days occasionally volunteering with the recovery effort and his nights tinkering with Archie.

But no, that wasn’t entirely correct. He had that dinner invitation with the Uptons. And what about Will, his roommate and close friend in college? Dan called him in November, after seeing his name on the survivor list, but they hadn’t spoken since. He should give him another call. What about Marion, a friend from his college ornithology club who in January called and asked Dan to volunteer with this new conservation project. He turned it down, having already decided to move. Now that he’d chosen to stay, he could spend his time actually doing something helpful with the project. And there were other names too, now, running through his head. Second chances. Why hadn’t he recognized them for what they were?

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice Adrian watching him from the corner of his eyes.


	3. and all that we suffered

The bright May sun illuminated the swirling dust in the air. Even six months later there was still so much debris to clear away.

Dan stayed in the background as he watched Adrian and Sophie inspecting the recovery progress. Despite being uncomfortable with the attention it might attract, he’d decided to accompany Adrian on his first appearance in public anyway, delaying for a couple of days his plan to go home.

It was absurd, certainly. There was no apparent threat. Since he got out of the car, Adrian had been swamped by the fawning public. Their sparring sessions each morning told Dan that even amnesiac, Adrian still fought better than Dan ever could. Nor was Adrian in any danger of becoming overwhelmed – the man took to public appearances the same way he took to any other venture: with a winning grace.

He stepped closer to Greene, Adrian’s security, who used his intimidating form to keep people from getting too close to Adrian. “I’m gonna take a walk around,” he informed the bald man.

“Noted, Sir,” Greene nodded.

Dan slipped quickly away, thankful for the many years of practice as Nite Owl. His feet took him to what remained of the park. Even so there were people around, those either unaware or uncaring of Adrian’s presence nearby. It was a beautiful spring day, all things considered: the sun was bright but warm, the breeze carrying the fresh smell of flowers and grass mixed with the inviting aroma from the surrounding food carts.

There was an empty bench facing a pond farther down the path. Dan plopped down, closed his eyes and basked like one of the lizards crawling around on the ground. With all the amenities in the Veidt Tower, complete with its indoor gardens, it was easy to fall into seclusion, especially for someone like him who had no outside commitment anchoring him.

Soon they would have to return to their old lives. Dan still hadn’t found any of the answers he was looking for when he decided to stay with Adrian, but he probably never would. Surprisingly, he no longer found the idea upsetting.

Eyes still closed, he felt Adrian’s presence approaching. Sometimes Dan used to wonder why Adrian never bothered with stealth around him. He used to believe it was because they got along well, with none of the antagonistic undercurrent poisoning their interaction like with the Comedian, thus Adrian didn’t feel the need to sneak up on him. After Karnak, though, he realized that maybe Adrian just never bothered because it was so obvious Dan was no threat to him.

Adrian sat down beside him. Dan could hear children laughing and shrieking, faint murmurs of people talking and walking around, the splashing ducks on the pond – but there were none of the buzzing of the press or star-struck onlookers.

“Thank you.”

“I needed to get some fresh air anyway.” Dan opened his eyes.

Adrian let out a chuckle. “Not for this visit, although yes, thank you for coming along. What I meant was thank you for taking care of me. Just because I appointed you, didn’t mean you were under any obligation. You could’ve refused and let my lawyers handle it, but you stepped up instead.” Adrian’s expression was something similar to that Saturday night’s, open and warm and grateful.

“Yeah, well … I should thank you in return.” Adrian raised an eyebrow. “I was going to move. Wipe the slate clean, you know? Start afresh somewhere else. But staying here with you made me realized that it would’ve been a mistake.”

“It wasn’t for me, Adrian. I learned that after Keene Act. I can’t start over as someone new. And besides, I’m tired. Tired of running away, of hiding, of being afraid.” The realization had danced around on the edge of his mind, always too fast to catch. Until this moment, where it finally took the definite shape of clarity. It was true: he spent years being afraid – and as he said to Laurie that night (that seemed like a lifetime ago now), he was tired of being afraid.

There was nothing to be afraid of anymore now. The worst had already happened. From now on, there was only one way forward: to accept the part he played in the destruction, and to do whatever he could to help make something good come out of it.

Dan took in a deep purifying breath, enjoying the unexpected but welcome lightness in his soul brought by the realization. Adrian’s lips curled upward into a small genuine smile, and Dan returned it with his own.

They sat there, two men enjoying life’s little joys.

* * *

Head blessedly empty after a long session tinkering with Archie, Dan climbed up the stairs whistling. His eyes caught the stylish coat hanging on the rack, definitely not one of his. He locked the front door – old habits die hard, even in this supposedly safer time – and there was no sign of break-in, so whoever it was had a key.

Oh. Adrian. Dan left a spare set of keys in the penthouse, just in case something come up. He didn’t expect Adrian to actually visit him here. Though Dan did remember Adrian saying something about going downtown to check in on the recovery effort again.

And yes, Adrian was standing in his living room, his back to Dan. Some of the boxes were still strewn around on the floor, Dan not having enough time to unpack between aborting his move with Laurie and moving to Adrian’s place. There was dust on the boxes, on the couch, on the coffee table – everywhere. It’d been a few days since he got back, but he still didn’t have the energy to do more than the bare minimum cleaning needed. He cringed inside.

“Adrian, been here long? Sorry, I was in the basement with Archie. Always have a problem keeping track of time down there.”

Adrian remained still as a statue. Something cold, like premonition, crept into Dan’s stomach.

“Adrian?”

The other man finally turned around. Rorschach’s journal was spread open between his bloodless fingers.

The world shrunk and faded away. Dan could hear nothing but the loud insistent pounding of his heart. His limbs felt suddenly weightless. Was this how Adrian felt when he crossed the line and activated the device? When he made himself feel every death? Bile rose to his throat.

He’d taken the journal upstairs, last night; its presence downstairs proved too distracting. He’d been meaning to reread it again, masochistic though the act would be.

“It’s quite a coincidence, you know,” Adrian began. His voice was the one familiar to Dan from countless TV interviews. Adrian had never used that voice with him before. “It was just yesterday I read in the archive about the whole furor over the so-called Rorschach’s journal. Every reputable publication denounced it as either fraudulent narrative concocted by a notorious conspiracy peddler, or, if it indeed belonged to him, the paranoid ramblings of a madman. Given what we know about Rorschach from his arrest and brief incarceration, the latter does seem to be the most plausible explanation. In any case, with the newspaper’s office burnt down, everyone agreed that there’d be no opportunity to prove anything.”

Adrian’s hazel eyes bore down on him. “Why do you have it, Dan?”

Dan closed his eyes. Took off his glasses, realizing his shirt was too dirty to wipe them, put them back on. “He was my partner, Adrian.”

“So this was indeed his.”

“Yes,” Dan admitted.

“And the content?”

God. Dan wanted to grab the journal, shout at Adrian to leave it alone, to turn around and be glad for the blissful ignorance of amnesia.

But perhaps some truths just can’t stay buried. After every omission, every lie, here they were anyway.

“It’s true,” barely a whisper, but it cracked across them with the force of a whip. “It’s true, Adrian. You killed the Comedian. You gave Jon’s old friends cancer. And the attack … Jon didn’t do it – you did.”

A grotesque twitch twisted Adrian’s expression into what Dan would call horrified on anyone else’s. It was gone in a second, quick as a flash of lightning.

“So you lied to me.”

Dan nodded in defeat. The betrayed look in Adrian’s eyes was a deserved punishment.

Adrian glanced down at the journal. Then he looked with cold, distant eyes at Dan again. “You do realize I need more than that.”

“… Alright,” Dan yielded. He threw Adrian’s coat towards him. “Put it on and come downstairs.”

He was putting on his cowl when Adrian’s footsteps clanged down the stairs. He looked up to find Adrian faltering, eyes drinking in his first sight of Nite Owl. Then his eyes shifted towards Archie. Suddenly Dan remembered his offer, that day when they went home from the hospital, to take Adrian to see his ship. Well, turned out Dan _did_ get to keep his words.

He put on his goggles, jerked his head towards Archie, machine all warmed up.

“Come on.”

* * *

Archie made a smoother landing, closer to the building, than he did the first time around, although just barely. Equipping him with the tools necessary to survive another flight to Antarctica had been the first upgrade Dan made after repairing the damage. God knows why, he certainly never intended to return to this damned place.

Winter had descended on the continent, bringing darkness and cruel wind with it. Archie’s lamps barely illuminated the path towards the gate.

He changed into the Snow Owl suit. If Adrian felt the cold, he didn’t show it. Dan handed him the white cloak anyway, which he accepted in silence.

No words passed between them as they made the trek to the gate. A few feet away from the door, Dan stopped. “This is where Jon killed Rorschach because he refused to compromise and was going to tell the world what you did. That part wasn’t a lie.” Which turned out to be futile – people wouldn’t have believed Rorschach anyway, just as they didn’t believe his journal now.

Or maybe not. Maybe Rorschach would’ve dragged him and Laurie into his crusade, and maybe they could add some credibility to his words.

Oh, who was he deluding. Whatever scenarios he considered, Adrian’s words would always weigh more than theirs.

Without looking aside to see Adrian’s reaction, he began walking again.

The first thing he noticed was that the roof had been repaired. The wall of television, though, remained broken. “I ran inside, and you … you let took my anger out on you.” A mirthless chuckle escaped from his lips. A shiver ran through him. Was the temperature really so cold, or did the chill engulfing him had more to do with the memory of this place? The high ceiling, instead of providing an open, breathing space, seemed to bear down oppressively upon them. He wondered if Jon knew what happened the past few months. Could he, with his powers, restore Adrian’s memory?

He turned and looked up the stairs. His feet felt leaden, but he climbed the stairs anyway, Adrian a faithful shadow behind him. He paused in front of a hallway.

Now it was Adrian’s turn to lead, his slow, tentative steps betraying his uncertainty. Two panels facing each other stopped them in their track.

“The intrinsic field subtractor,” Adrian spoke quietly. Dan narrowed his eyes. It was returned with a faint humorless smile. “There’s a blueprint hidden among the files in my desk.”

The reactor loomed behind the wall of glass at the end of the path. “There’s a blueprint of that, too,” Adrian whispered. He advanced as if pulled by magnet. Dan followed, and to his death he’d never admit the sliver of fascination he felt on seeing that calamitous device.

“I wondered,” Adrian said, voice tight. “I couldn’t figure out why I had them built, or where they were. I made some discreet inquiries, but no one had any idea they even existed. I thought maybe I hadn’t built them after all – that they were just some plan for future project.” He sounded breathless by the end of it. The blue glow emanating from the reactor cast a sickly, strange parlor on his face.

They stood, transfixed, for how long Dan couldn’t tell. Maybe hours, maybe minutes.

Finally, Dan shifted his gaze. Adrian’s bloodless face was reflected in the glass. Dan couldn’t look away.

* * *

Neither of them spoke a word on the long flight home. Adrian stared straight ahead, eyes unseeing. His fingers left dented half-moons on the armrests.

Back in the Nest, Adrian shrugged off the white cloak, and was gone in a flash.

Dan chased after him, almost tripping over the cloak on the floor, heart beating so frantically he was afraid it would burst. “Adrian?” he called out. It came out a plea.

The sight of his car speeding away was the only answer he got.

* * *

The night passed with the agonizing slowness of a decade. He left the TV on the whole time, desperate for any mention of Adrian. He was drained of energy, and yet he couldn’t sit still.

He couldn’t make up his mind. One moment he was convinced that it was best to leave Adrian alone, give him time to come to terms with the revelation. A small voice whispered that it was only just. What comfort did Adrian deserve? His victims didn’t get any, so why should he?

And yeah, once Dan would have gladly left Adrian alone in his guilt. But that was before the other man lost his memory. This Adrian, the one he spent the last month with, was a different person in this regard. Whatever conviction, whatever darkness, whatever delusion that convinced the past Adrian that he had the right to make that decision, this Adrian didn’t share it. Of this Dan was certain.

And what if going to Karnak was the key that finally unlocked the vault of his memory? Laurie told him, one sleepless night, of what finding out the truth about her father felt like. How she curled up in pain and wept on the red surface of Mars as the truth came crashing down upon her. Such agony, even with her lover beside her.

Even the Comedian had Moloch to witness his breakdown.

Dan stopped pacing. He made up his mind.

* * *

He found Adrian standing on the rooftop of the Veidt building, standing close to the edge. Cautiously, he made his way to Adrian’s side, taking care to telegraph his movement and giving him his space.

Adrian made no movement to show he was aware of Dan’s presence. His eyes remained fixed on Ground Zero, brightly illuminated by artificial lights for nighttime work. Against the black sky barely any stars could be seen. The wind rushed and swooshed around them.

In the end, it was Adrian who broke the silence.

“Were you ever going to tell me the truth?”

“I couldn’t make up my mind,” Dan admitted. “When I thought about that day, in anger, I wanted to tell you. But when I thought about what a different person you are now … I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. And anyway, I didn’t think you’d believe me. You’ve read what happened to the _New Frontiersman_.”

“I _knew_ I hurt you in some way.” Startled, Dan turned to look at the other man. The ghost of a self-deprecating smile played on Adrian’s lips. “If I had to guess, I’d say you were an ex-lover and things ended badly between us. Turns out I was right about the latter.”

“Then you moved in to help me recuperate and introduced yourself as Nite Owl. I changed my hypothesis. The most reasonable explanation seemed to be that we were colleagues, friends even perhaps, grown distant through the years. That would explain the hostility as well. Who wouldn’t get caught off guard when entrusted with caring for an acquaintance who never even asked your permission?”

“I was _so_ wrong, wasn’t I?” Adrian closed his eyes, face crunched up. Dan’s fingers itched with the desire to reach out and smooth those lines. “ _Why_ , Dan?”

“You said … that it was the only way to prevent a nuclear war. That you’d kill fifteen millions –” Adrian flinched, “– but you’d save billions.”

“You know what the worst part is?” Without waiting for an answer, Adrian went on. “I understand his logic. If you look at it from a purely rational angle, it makes sense. But what I don’t understand is why _that_ Adrian thought he had the right to decide for everyone else.”

“No, I don’t understand why either, Adrian. That’s partly why I moved in; I wanted to see if I could find answers. From somewhere in your past, perhaps.” Then he added, desperately, because Adrian needed to understand this: that even then, he wasn’t so far gone, so far removed from humanity, “You made yourself feel every death.” Adrian looked at him with shock written all over his pale face, “That’s what you told me that day. Yes, you thought the result was worth the sacrifice, but you mourned your decision even before you executed it. You made it your cross to bear.”

Adrian blinked. He looked so lost that Dan wanted to reach out and do something, anything, to comfort him.

But then Adrian let out a slow, pained breath, and his expression turned into a defeated resignation.

“I called Lindsay a couple days ago. He hedged around and tried to offer reassurances, but … I think we both know that the probability of my ever regaining my memory is close to zero.” His smile broke Dan’s heart.

“I’m afraid the answers are lost, and we’ll never find them back.”

Dan slowly nodded. He’d suspected as much after weeks going through the blond man’s past together. He’d thought, once, that he’d find them in the mementos from Adrian’s past, but he’d come to realize that Adrian had done such a fine job burying them even from his own self.

“Dan, I –” Adrian swallowed. “I don’t know how to go on.”

There was a time when Dan wouldn’t believe his ears hearing those words coming out of Adrian’s mouth. Now he didn’t even bat an eyelash. His life had been turned upside down by so many revelations and changes that nothing would faze him anymore. 

Only the sound of the wind was heard for some time. Dan stared at the remains of destruction before him. One day future generations would look at them and see only the promise of hope and determination and rebirth, with none of the despairing memory of the toll and sacrifice it took. One day November 2 would be just another date in history textbook to be memorized, not a day of horror that must be lived through every year.

He thought about Laurie, in the California repairing her relationship with her mother. He thought about the Uptons, unafraid to reach out even after so many years. He thought about the other survivors, volunteering with the recovery effort and doggedly carrying on with their lives, even after losing so much.

He reached out and took one of Adrian’s hands in his. “We’ll rebuild,” he answered. The open surprise and wonder in Adrian’s face tugged at something inside him.

“We’ll rebuild, and hope that will be enough,” Dan smiled suddenly, though it was more tinged with melancholy than with genuine joy. “Just like once we put on our costumes and went patrolling at night and hoped that it’d make some difference, however little.”

For a long moment, Adrian regarded him quietly. Then finally, slowly, he smiled. Just a small, barely-there one, with none of the self-assurance that once was ever-present.

For a start, it was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Donald Justice's poem "[There is a gold light in certain old paintings](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/58079/there-is-a-gold-light-in-certain-old-paintings)".


End file.
